For Old Time's Sake
by tidvis
Summary: Oneshot, Gambit/Deadpool. Remy is weary and nostalgic, as a face from the past is literally haunting him in his bedroom.


**Author's Note:** Just had an urge to write this. There's no real back-story (except what's revealed in the story itself) and I don't plan to make a second part. Sure, Gambit and Deadpool might seem an odd coupling, and yeah, the whole thing is veryvery OOC. But hey, it's fan fiction. Just don't take it too seriously, okay?

Remy put down his mask on the night-stand and let out a heavy sigh. Roughly pulling his fingers through his hair, in a feeble attempt to fix the mess it had turned into, he sat down on the bed, sighing yet again.

The physical and mental exhaustion overwhelmed him. Today had been a very long day. A handful of scars and bruises from the battle still lingered on his skin, and he was careful not to touch them as he removed his magenta shirt. He threw over the back of a chair, where the heavy coat was already hung. Bending down to remove his boots, he realized just how dirty they were.

Was that a blood stain?

Had he known as a kid that he'd be wiping blood from his shoes as an adult, he wouldn't have believed it. But on the other hand, who ever expects their life to turn out the way it does?

Kicking of his boots, he lay down upon the bed and idly rested his gaze at the ceiling.

The entire floor was silent; the others were probably sound asleep. The silence pressed close, pounding in Remy's ears.

He drew a deep breath and blinked rapidly a couple of times. He was trying hard not to think about _him_, but the images of today's battle kept appearing in his mind.

It had been so long since he last saw that face. Remy had nearly forgotten how swift and graceful he could be. Even hidden behind that costume, he was so obviously strong and agile. The way that red tight fabric accentuated his slender body, wrapping close to every muscle ... it was irresistible.

A slight growl rose from Remy's throat as he forced himself to stop thinking about it. There simply was no use now; he was only torturing himself.

He felt a chilling wind drifted in through the only window, breaking Remy's train of thought by making him shudder. He lifted his head slightly.

Odd. Had he left it open this morning?

Rising from the bed, he moaned.

His joints were sore, his fingertips still burning with a light tingle as he touched the smooth glass to shut the window. Afterwards, he dwelled there for a few moments, resting his palms upon the glass, and scanned the dark yard outside.

It was empty, desolate this time of night, eerily illuminated by a dozen large spotlights, there to scare of potential intruders.

Then there came a slight sound from inside the room, behind Remy – hardly audible, like the soft rustling of fabric against something harder, like someone creeping quietly along a wall.

Remy didn't turn around, or show any signs of recognition. And yet, he knew. He could sense the presence now; he knew it so well, even after all this time. It was the smell, the aura, radiating throughout the entire room. He recognized it all so easily.

He knew it was him. He could feel those piercing eyes at his bare neck. But, even though he stood there entirely exposed, the possibility of an attack ever present, Remy wasn't afraid.

He wanted to speak the name out loud, but his voice seemed lost somewhere in the depth of his chest. So they stood like that for a long while; Remy by the window, with his palm still pressed against the cold glass; the intruder hiding amongst the shadows next to the wardrobe, only a few feet away from him. They said nothing.

Until a voice was heard, speaking up from within the shadows, like fog creeping through and overgrown meadow.

"Remy ..."

A jolt of excitement soared through Remy.

There was no resentment, no taunt – not even the slightest tease within that voice. Only affection and perhaps … shyness? No, that couldn't be.

Still having a hard time moving or speaking, Remy stood frozen, but could well hear the silent steps as the intruder slowly crossed the room, closing in on him, no longer bother to stay hidden. Remy's heart pounded harder than during any battle he'd ever been in, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment.

Something brushed briefly against his bare shoulder; a second later a hand was gripping it firmly, despite its slender and delicate build. Then the hand was turning him around, gently forcing him to move. But even as they stood face-to face, Remy kept his eyes reluctantly shut.

Could it be that this was just a dream, his mind still weary and confused from the battle?

"Remy …" said the voice again. "_Ouvrez vos yeux_, darling."

And the poor gambit, somehow stripped of his own free will by that enthralling voice, obeyed. Slowly, he let his eyelids slide back to reveal to him what he in his heart already knew. And as the face appeared in front of him, Remy was finally convinced that he wasn't dreaming.

It wasn't the horribly disfiguring scars the he noticed first, nor the red-and-black mask that had been pulled back, but still covered the bald head. No, the first thing Remy rested his gaze upon was the eyes. Those ridiculously large light-brown eyes, shining back at him with the strength of a thousand suns. They literally took the breath out of him.

But Wade Wilson was no beauty; time had been unfairly rough on him. The skin on his face was almost completely covered in scar-tissue, and he hardly had any hairs left in his eyebrows, but the bone structure, the high cheekbones and the sharp chin, revealed the fact that he had once been a handsome man. Once, before his life took a wrong turn; long before _Weapon X_. When he had still been beautiful, and he and Remy had spent an entire summer roaming the streets of New Orleans.

A vague smile lingered upon his thin, scarred lips but, again, it was neither taunting nor teasing.

Upon catching his breath, Remy uttered what felt like the first words of his entire life.

"Why are you here?"

Wade was dressed entirely in his Deadpool outfit; guns, katanas and all, and this made Remy quite a bit uneasy. Noticing the anxiousness in his voice, Wade's smile extended slightly and he raised his hands to remove the weapons. The swords and the guns, as well as his large belt all landed on the floor with a loud thud.

"I'm not here for trouble," he said, his voice so smooth and easy it might well have been pure liquid. "My intentions for this visit are … merely nostalgic, dear old friend."

He raised a hand to Remy's face, softly touching his cheek.

"Seeing you today," Wade went on, "dare I say … it brought back memories I had almost forgotten I owned. How long has it been now?"

"Too long," was all Remy could reply.

"Indeed. But the years have treated you well. You haven't aged a day."

The touch of Wade's warm hand against his skin evoked a rush of exhilaration through Remy's nervous body. He didn't know whether to be afraid, relieved or excited.

"Why did you come here?" he asked once more.

"I wanted to see you. Up close. Though I'm sorry I'm no longer a pleasant view for you in return." He let out a low laugh, but Remy gave no reaction. "Loosen up, darling," Wade added.

"What happened to you?" said Remy suddenly. "The things I've heard – the things you've done … You've become a monster."

Remy regretted saying it the very moment the words slipped out of his mouth, but it was too late. A shiver passed through Wade's body as his fists and jaws clenched. Within seconds, his relaxed features became twisted with frustration and anger.

"Do I scare you, Remy?" Remy didn't reply. He watched as Wade raised his hand to pull the mask back down over his face. "I asked: _do I scare you_, Remy? Does the 'Merc with a Mouth' sicken you? He's insane, you know. Could lash out and murder you before you even had any time to realize what happened to you. The Deadpool."

"I never liked that name," said Remy defiantly, yet softly. "You will always be Wade to me. Mask or no mask."

Wade suddenly grabbed Remy by the wrist, nearly crushing it inside his fist. Gasping with shock, Remy tried to snatch away, but found himself too weak to do so. Wade looked as though he wanted nothing else but to slice him open with one of his swords, as he stood there shaking with anger, still holding tight around Remy's sore arm.

"I'm not afraid of you," said Remy through gritted teeth, the pain surging through his arm.

This seemed to anger Wade even more, and he slowly tightened his grip around Remy's wrist, forcing a painful groan to escape from his reluctant lips.

"Maybe you should be," Wade hissed.

"Crush me if it pleases you," said Remy in a tortured manner. "But I will always see you as that joyful boy sitting next to me at the docks, telling me jokes, making me laugh. The name Deadpool means nothing to me; he's a monster; you will always be the Wade Wilson of my memories."

Within second, Wade's pale eyes widened, and he let go of Remy, turning his back on him and stepping away.

Rubbing his wrist, silently wondering if anything had been broken, Remy regarded his old friend's back. His posture was weaker now; his head hanging and shoulders sloping.

Wade was silent. After a moment, he pulled off the mask once more, a defeated look upon his face.

"_Mon ami_ … talk to me," begged Remy. "Tell me what happened to you. Was there anything I could have done, that I didn't do?"

But Wade merely shook his head.

Moving closer, Remy stopped so that his chin was almost resting at Wade's shoulder. Using his healthy hand, he then searched for Wade's arm, softly sliding down to touch his fingers. Leaning in, closer to his ear, he whispered: "Talk to me."

Slowly turning around, Wade moved his face closer to Remy, looking down at him with those sad, sad eyes.

Remy wanted so desperately to believe that there was still good inside of this man; that there was still hope for Wade and that there could perhaps even be a place for him here, among the _X-Men_, one day. But a large part of him was doubtful. Looking into that scarred face, he saw few traces of the Wade he'd once known. He was there somewhere, but the question was whether he had been suppressed so deeply that it was too late to save him.

Wade smiled; and it was a sweet smile. Then he turned entirely to Remy, their bodies now lightly pressing against each other, their hands still entwined. Neither of them found any point in fighting their urges, and so they both shared the dive, and kissed.

Wade's lips were warm, but somewhat hesitant. Was this the first time he kissed someone since he and Remy had been together?

Remy awkwardly held out his injured hand to the side to ensure it didn't end up crushed between them, but he could already feel the tingling sensation of the healing process.

It was Remy who were the one to draw away first, breaking the kiss. It had only lasted for a few seconds. As they looked at each other now, Remy felt surprisingly relieved and yet, somehow saddened. Kissing Wade hadn't been at all what he remembered it to be. In fact he didn't feel much at all. And Wade, who seemed a bit uncomfortable now, once again stepped away from him.

He went over to his weapons and bent down to pick them up from the floor.

"Are you leaving?"

No reply, except the silent rustle of the gun-belt being put back on. Fixing the katanas on his back, Wade sighed.

Remy knew that he was about to disappear through the window the same way as he had appeared through it, but made no attempt to stop him. He felt for some reason content at the thought of it all ending this way, though he would never be able to explain just why.

Wade walked up to the window and opened it, but hesitated with his foot on the sill, his head halfway out.

"Goodbye, Remy," he said.

Simple words. Yet so full of meaning; _until we meet again, if we meet again. Be it in battle or in peace. _Without resentment, but also without any love. Without grudges, but without affection as well. But all was well. Remy knew what he wanted to say, and the feeling was mutual.

And with that, Wade pulled down his mask to become Deadpool once more, and swiftly made his way through the window, leaving it open behind him so that a wind could blow in to upset the curtains.

Remy approached the window, resting his nearly healed hand against the window ledge. He searched the dark outside for signs of movement, but Deadpool was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
